


To Provide Some Form of Comfort

by Not_A_Kinky_Bastard



Series: Comfort Verse [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Unreliable Narrator, and rating will eventually change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 20:19:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11562594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_A_Kinky_Bastard/pseuds/Not_A_Kinky_Bastard
Summary: "Many people believe that our soulmate connection is a gift from God," Alexander laughed, shaking his head quickly. "I strongly believe it's an evolutionary development. It's just unwise to trust just anyone! We have the connection so we can always believe there's someone who will stand by our side.""And you couldn't find anyone to stand on your side otherwise?" Aaron asked, setting aside his book to join the conversation.Alexander stilled. He remembered the dozens of texts that were still unanswered, the way the door slammed so hard paintings had fallen off the wall, the fact that he never smelled dinner when he opened the door and coffee was never made for him in the morning when he woke. His voice was tight as he took a full sixty seconds to think of his answer before launching his response as sharply as if it were a rocket. "Are you so sure you could, Burr?"It was a low blow, but Alexander had been dealt enough of those lately to feel no guilt.





	1. Just Knowing Someone is There (John)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is the first fanfiction I've tried to write in forever (I'm a slut for RPs instead) but this wasn't an easy thing to RP so I wanted to write it out instead. I'm always open to comments and criticisms and advice, and if anyone would be interested in beta-ing or talking to me about LafLams, hmu. 
> 
> I try to apply as much accuracy as possible. Out of everyone, only like 5 people's ages were changed (and I'll list them later). There are going to be a handful of background characters, background relationships, and whatnot. Ideally, I'm going to write more about all of the background fam in other fics so this might end up being part of a series. We'll see.
> 
> I'm going to try to update this weekly. Weeeee.

On October 26th, 1992 John Laurens came into this world, his mother’s most peaceful birth. As the sun set on South Carolina, his mother traced designs on his curled up fists with her finger, and after she snuck a magic marker into the hospital herself (because Henry refused to humor her childish beliefs) added a small heart to the inside of his wrist. No one was alive at the time to have the small design appear on their own wrist, but Eleanor liked to imagine a mother as delighted as herself seeing the heart appear and fawning over it.

On January 11th, 1995 John Laurens was splattered in painless bruises that sent Eleanor into a panic. Despite the hundreds of miles between them, someone in the world saw the evidence of Alexander Hamilton’s painful birth, and as Eleanor rocked John in her arms and prayed to God, she prayed for the mother of John’s soulmate and prayed for John’s soulmate and prayed for John to not yet understand that the bruises he was so amused by were caused by a pain he would one day try to heal. She was sure he would try to heal, Eleanor mused, running her fingers through the tangled knots of her toddler’s hair. She wanted to raise him to be the type to always offer help, and always be willing to accept help when he needed it. As she held John against her chest, she tried not to think of Henry’s insistence that he would be a strong man who didn’t go along with the bullshit belief that he had to fuck someone who got the same marks as he did. It was easy to forget things with a child in your arms.

On September 6th of that same year, there was no evidence to John or to Alexander that Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier was brought into this life. With both of his soulmates unknowingly alive, the nurses in France were amused to find the reds that came from scrapes appearing on his kneecaps only hours after birth. Training to differentiate actual injury and soulmate marks was intense, but very necessary as two of the younger nurses cooed at Gilbert from his bed.

“His soulmate must already be a child!” One of the girls announced with a giggle, her hands clasping together over her heart.

“An adventurous one at that. Hopefully he can keep up.” They watched as Gilbert squirmed restlessly in his bed, already eager to begin his life. As their giggles turned to content sighs, the nurses decided with all their knowledge with the world that Gilbert would certainly keep up with anyone who needed him by their side.

On the other side of the world, the scrapes on John’s knees were gently cleaned, bandaged up, and given kisses. Eleanor would wonder if his soulmate was old enough to care for his wellbeing. She kissed the wounds twice just in case they did, and sent John to relax on the couch with his younger sister while she went to change his younger brother. Neither Martha nor Henry Jr. had showed any marks yet, but she was excited for when they did. Just as she had done for John, hearts were drawn on their wrists every time she could get away with it.

The world was a much better place with hearts in it, she announced to her children every time she traced the familiar shape, no matter who tried to tell them otherwise.

 

While John was the first to age to the point of understanding the marks that would appear on everyone’s body, he was almost always the cause of marks appearing rather than being able to see marks on his own skin. “Your soulmate is a baby.” Eleanor would tell him softly as he stared impatiently at his arms or legs. “Be happy there’s no marks for you to observe.”

“It’s boring!” John announced with a frown, crossing his arms over his chest as he had seen his mother often do in arguments with his father. It was the best way he knew to address his frustration besides beating his fists against the table.

Eleanor tsked softly, pulling his arms down with the care and patience a lucky few were given. “How about we give something to your soulmate?” She offered, pulling a magic marker out of her back pocket.

John’s eyes lit up in wonder. His mother let him draw on himself sparingly, knowing better than to give Henry cause to complain. It was always a special treat when she let him have the marker to color a design into his wrist or arm or leg – whichever he decided most appropriate. Eleanor drew on herself even more sparingly. While she was raised to blindly trust that her connection to her soulmate was God-given and natural, Henry grew up in a church that told him the marks on his arms would only lead him into sin and temptation. Henry lived with his arms and legs always covered when nudity wasn’t necessary, and anything that marked his skin was viewed at as a sickening temporary tattoo.

Eleanor had always loved the marks that dotted her skin. She had treasured them dearly, and as a schoolgirl would always trace hearts into the palm of her hand. She had done this for years until “STOP” appeared on her forehead in blocky letters. She left the school in tears and hid out until her soulmate finally washed the letters off. It was a warning. She maintained hope that she would meet him one day, but when a tattoo burned itself onto her hip, hope was lost and she forced herself to move on. The tattoo on her hip, a mark she would never erase, was a date, two rings on either side. Wedding rings. Eleanor knew well enough to take a hint.

But as much as her soulmate had hurt her, she never once lost her faith. Her faith in God and in love and in happiness guided her actions, and as she watched the brightness in John’s eyes shine as he inked the length of his forearm in smiley faces and letters he was beginning to learn, she prayed that God was kind enough to give John a soulmate who would look at the marks with as much wonder and delight as John did creating them.

If she had known before she died that it would be John who tried to refuse God’s gift, she would consider her work a failure. For all the work she did and all the hope she tried to instill in the system and in God’s plan, Henry Laurens made it nearly impossible for any of his five children to accept anything she had tried to teach them was natural.

 

Even if they weren’t soulmates, Henry loved Eleanor dearly. With her passing, a part of Henry was taken away with her, and John became acutely aware that the piece that was gone was the piece with the most compassion. With his mother gone, John and his siblings were dressed like Henry dressed himself. Long sleeved shirts and long pants were the norm, regardless of how hot the South Carolina sun made the Earth. When John was 13, just as Alexander was turning 11 and discovering how freeing writing could be, John was forced to wear gloves at the ink that permanently stained his fingertips.

Whatever joy John associated with the marks on his arms and legs and hands turned to resentment when he wasn’t filled with concern. Nothing Henry could tell John would make John so unsympathetic as to harbor anything but worry when his knuckles were decorated in deep reds and purples and yellows blossomed on his ribs like blooming flowers. 

As John sat on the edge of his bed, all clothes save his boxers abandoned on the floor, he traced over the marks with trembling fingers. He wondered what his mom would have said if she saw the extent of the damage and with tears in his eyes, John grabbed a marker from his desk.

A single heart was traced on the side of his wrist, a prettier shape than he had managed the last time he tried to draw when he was only eight and still couldn’t write his name in cursive. He paused, wondering if his soulmate was paying enough attention to see the mark. Swallowing thickly, John etched a quick, “I’m sorry” across the flat of his wrist. He would rub the mark away with spit later, but he needed it to be seen. It was the very first time a word had been written on his body, and his soulmate had never gone so far as to write any word before either.

Writing messages to soulmates wasn’t unusual, but it wasn’t encouraged. Especially at his age, no one wanted to think about having to spend the rest of their lives with someone, or they shared his father’s belief that soulmates were a temptation and an act against God. Torn between his mother’s love and his father’s hate, John picked and chose the times he wanted to believe in the inherent good of the world. Now he desperately wanted to believe that this connection on his arm was for good. He wanted to offer some form of comfort, and he wanted to believe the favor would be returned when he needed it most.

John turned off his light to be sure it wouldn’t attract his father’s attention and crouched beside the night light for the better part of an hour to see if any response was given. When he realized he had fallen asleep with his head against his knees as he leaned against the wall, John scrubbed at the words and the ridiculous heart until his skin was raw and as he crawled into bed, he sobbed into his pillow until he was finally allowed to stop thinking.

 

On the last day of 8th grade, Henry dressed John up nicer than usual. John had complained with all his strength against having to wear his tie and button up shirt, but Henry was resolute.

“You need to look nice for all the pretty girls in your class.” Henry told him firmly, strong hands tying the knot with practiced ease. “Now’s the best time to get in their good graces before you’re sorted with the high school. Girls always go for older men.” The smile on his lips was a proud one and John tried to imagine his dad as a 14 year old wearing a tie and a starchy, scratchy button up.

“I don’t want to get a pretty girl, dad.” John sighed, finally dropping his hands to his sides. “All they do is talk about makeup and horses and dancing.” Henry’s fingers tightened on the knot, the fabric squeezing uncomfortably against his trachea before it relaxed.

“It’s good you focus on school, boy, but you’ll be interested in girls soon enough, and you’ll be glad for the advice when you do.”

John wasn’t glad for the advice when he went to class and Martha Manning ran her fingers through the hair his father said was too damn long. He wasn’t glad for the advice when he walked away with Martha’s number written in his yearbook and a kiss on his cheek that felt like a kiss from his grandmother. He wasn’t glad for the advice, but he was happy for the praise his father gave him when he went home that day. Martha didn’t seem to care that he wasn’t interested in her. Martha especially didn’t seem to care that they weren’t soulmates, but she messaged him daily regardless, and she was too sweet for him to think of a reason not to text back.

 

After a summer of playing in every field in Charleston and having at least 15 texts a day from Martha and staring at his arms and legs at night for any evidence that there was someone in the world who he belonged with more than the pretty enough girl who he would be fine never seeing again, John was ready for high school. His father gifted him the newest phone on the market, a shiny new blackberry that John saw as less of a gift and more of an inability to ignore the texts he got.

John found himself more interested in the marks that may appear on his arms and legs than the messages that would buzz his phone.

“Johnny!” Martha called out, her voice managing to cut through the rabble of the crowded hallway, and John stopped if only because he was impressed by the sheer ability to be heard over the hundred or so bodies crowding around him.

“Hey, Martha.” He greeted, his hand going to adjust the strap on his shoulder. “Got your homeroom yet?”

She grinned, falling easily into step with him. “Yep! Mrs. Sooter.” Her face twisted into playful disgust. “Lemme see your schedule!”

John pulled the crumpled schedule from his pocket, passing it over without complaint. He watched as she bent over the papers, eyes scanning and comparing before handing it back. “The verdict?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Out of luck. Zero out of eight.” Martha laughed, her cheeks dusted pink, and John considered for a moment how pretty she was. She really was a kind girl. His mother would have loved her, and that’s enough for John to throw an arm around her shoulders and pull her close.

“There’s always lunch.” He announced, and he was signing up for a year of talking and texting and putting the girl on his arm above whoever it was that was connected to him, but he could manage.

 

The following weeks passed easily enough, and John fell into a routine. Extracurriculars filled his days, and texting Martha was an expected facet of his evenings, and it was only at night that John allowed himself to look for marks. It was at the end of September that John finally found something of consequence on his wrist.

_Can I e-mail you? Just got an e-mail today! Finally set one up._

So much had been written that if John were to reply, he would have to write down near the middle of his forearm. Talkative soulmate, he mused, surprised at the smile that stretched across his lips. John was reaching for a pen to scribble his address when ink appeared neatly under the words in a different handwriting.

**mjpyrgdmdl@hotmail.fr**

John stared at his wrist, eyes widening. His father had warned that having more than one soulmate was even more of a sin. His mother had softly told him that it meant his heart was big enough for two people. Swallowing thickly, he scratched his own e-mail under the first.

**_j0laurens@gmail.com_ **

_Gimme a minute? Look out for ham4all@gmail.com_

John tugged his shirt over his wrist quickly, not trusting the dark and privacy of his bedroom to keep the words that trailed almost down to his elbow a secret from his father and the rest of the world. He waited until the e-mail on his phone refreshed and a new message popped up to scrub away the words, hoping the others would follow suit.

John set his phone aside for a minute, rubbing at his face. He didn’t know if he was ready to talk to one soulmate, much less two. He wanted to wait longer, wanted to postpone the inevitable for as long as he could manage, but a second chirp told him that he could now see messages from both of his soulmates. They would be waiting on him.

_Subject: Soulmate(s)_

_Hey, okay, so this is super exciting. I’ve honestly been wanting to make an e-mail for the longest time so I could try to write, but there’s been a lot going on and I finally have access to a computer but it’s shared, so I might not always be able to get on, but I might be able to sneak on during school so that’s sort of cool?_

_So I should probably introduce myself. So your names popped up when I typed in your emails (which, Gilbert, yours is pretty weird.) so you’re John and Gilbert, right? Well, I’m Alexander Hamilton and I’m a guy and I’m 12 but I have like a 12 th grade reading level. I really like reading and writing and I’m not really into sports and I’m top of my class._

_I also think soulmates are kinda stupid. Not that either of you are stupid, I have no way of knowing that, but it feels weird that we’re kinda supposed to immediately fall in love with someone who sees the bruises we have? I’d really like to know what you guys think about soulmates because I’ve had so many conversations about it but it would be really cool to talk to my actual soulmates about it. So yeah. Thanks, Alex_

**You alone will be the reason I am good at English, my friend. I am Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, in line to be Marquis de Lafayette. I am interested in any nicknames you can come up with. My anniversary was earlier this month. I am also 12. I am from France. I moved to Paris recently. Are you both of America?**

**It is not easy to describe my opinion of soulmates. Will you wait for me to learn more English? I think we will have many conversations then. We have time, right?**

John exhaled slowly, scrolling up and down the two emails. Men. Boys, he corrected. Two boys were his soulmates and there was no way his father could ever know. John glanced at his arm, thankful that both the boys decided to wipe the ink off of their arms, though he had liked seeing Alexander’s script. John slipped under the covers, setting his alarm for the following morning.

The idea of replying immediately was not one John planned to entertain before a second e-mail from Alexander popped up.

_I don’t wanna take all the fun from John, but I’m voting for Laf as your official nickname. Has a better ring than Gilbert. You seem more like a Laf than a Gil. But speaking of John, did I come off too strong? I’d love to hear back from you._

_Also, Laf, you have pretty impressive English. I sorta know French, but I can only speak it. Can't read or write it, but maybe I can figure it out if I try?  I'll probably take a French class next semester if you wanna try to help me along. What are soulmates for if not teaching me languages?I_

_Also, I’m in America now yeah, but I was born in the Caribbean but now I’m in New York so that’s pretty cool._

 

John smiled despite himself, caught off guard by just how energetic Alexander seemed. It only seemed natural to want to start a friendship between the two of these boys.

****

**_Hey. Sorry it took a while to reply. I’m getting ready to go to bed._ **

**_I’m 14, gonna be 15 next month so that’s fun? I just started high school and I do a bunch of stuff. Just started playing baseball and that’s exciting. I’m from South Carolina._ **

**_And I’m fine with not talking about soulmates yet either._ **

**_Laf gets my vote, but we shouldn’t close ourselves up to new ideas. What if we could combine all of his names into one big one? Like Majopayvrogilmodelaf? It’s a work in progress; don’t judge. Laf, you shouldn’t have given us this opportunity._ **

 

If Alexander would let them drop the subject of being soulmates, he was sure they would be fast friends. He wasn’t ready to consider that he might eventually fall in love with either of them. He wasn’t ready to think that far in the future. He set his phone on the charger and for the first time, he found himself excited to check his phone in the morning.

_Oh my God I didn’t even consider pushing his entire name together. John, that’s genius. I’ll make a list of possible nicknames and send it off later. For now, I think Laf should work._

_Whoa, how does it feel to be the oldest and wisest of us, John? You’re gonna need to tell me all about high school because I think I’m gonna manage to skip a grade so I’m gonna need as much advice as you can give me._

_Laf, apparently, you’re 6 hours ahead, so my question is why are you awake at like 5am?_

_And also both of you suck for not talking about soulmates. You’re the perfect people to talk about this with oh my god. But whatever. We can find something else to talk about. I wanna hear all about you two._

**Laf. I like it. Most unique nickname I have been given. I think I might start to regret this challenge. Alexander, do you prefer that or Alex?**

**I wake up very early for class. You are very inquisitive. Go to sleep.**

**I am very glad to meet both of you. Eventually, I would like to visit America and hopefully we will meet in person one day.**

**I think it would be best for us to let Alex guide the conversation.**

_You can call me Alexander or Alex. Either is fine. You can go ahead and try to give me a nickname, but I might not like it and I might get pissed off woops._

_That would be really cool being able to meet both of you guys but one of you guys would have to come to me. I don’t really think I can travel too much right now. A lot of stuff is going on._

Yeah, John decided as he scrolled through his e-mails until he was almost late to leave for class, he was going to make fast friends with them both.


	2. Just Knowing Someone is There (Alexander)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander's tragic backstory™

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, everything in Alexander's life happens super fast compared to historically. Like he was 16 when he came to America in real life, but in this he comes over when he's 12 so everything is just condensed so yeah. The stuff between his parents is mostly accurate and it is WILD.

Rachel Faucette never explained to any of her three children what a soulmate was. When she lived in Denmark with a man she never truly loved who only seemed to hold her in contempt and a child she hadn’t meant to have, she didn’t believe that soulmates were a worthwhile use of her time. Though Europe accepted soulmates as natural without the idea of sin that much of the southern United States held, neither Rachel nor the rest of her family ever cared. She married young and without passion, and when James Hamilton bumped into her in a crowded market sporting the black eye that had marred Rachel’s features for the past two days, her life flipped upside down.

She watched as James laughed, looking down at her with piercing eyes. “Bar fight. I would’ve been more careful if I knew it was your face that was really being hurt.” His Danish was rough, stilted, but she loved the way he sounded.

 “Not hurt. But I was concerned.” She changed the language, switching to English in an attempt to be accommodating. Her blush was immediate, and the way his own face seemed to flush made her wonder if even that was shared by soulmates. The way his hand moved to the back of his neck sheepishly made her realize that the redness on his cheeks was all his own.

“A kiss could make it better.” He told her. When he received no response, he tried again in Danish, then in French. When he was greeted with only silence, he offered her a smile, brought her hand to his lips and kissed it before stepping away. “I’ll ask you again next time I see you.”

And he did. And she agreed.

James promised a happy life without fear of her husband’s anger and without what she began to consider the burden of a child. With James at her side, she couldn’t imagine anything to be afraid of.

With her husband at work, she packed a bag of clothes and hid it off to the side. When Johann went to bed that night, her son Peter sleeping in the next room over, she took her bag and ran. She ran into James’ arms first and followed him by running on the first plane to Saint Kitts.

On Sugar City, the two fell deeply in love. By the time they moved home to Nevis, Rachel was already pregnant with James Jr.

By the time she was pregnant with Alexander, James was gone with nothing but a messy ‘I’m sorry’ tattooed on her wrist in English, French, and Danish. No matter how much time passed, the words never disappeared. She began to wonder if he rewrote the words every night as she slept or if the words had been made permanent with a needle.

Dutifully, she covered her wrist and went about her life, vowing to love her two bastard children with the love she believed she could have learned to show in Denmark.

Whatever money wasn’t spent on food and shelter and essentials was spent on books. French and Danish books were hard to come by, but Rachel spoke to her sons in three tongues. She sang them three alphabets, taught them three sets of numbers, supplemented the education her sons received with as much of the knowledge she gained in Europe.

She couldn’t give her sons luxuries or a father or even a life where they didn’t have to help her work, but she could give them a passion for knowledge. Nowhere in her studies did she ever bother to tell them about soulmates, bile rising in her throat when Alexander would show her the heart on his wrist.

“It’ll fade.” She would tell him, stroking his hair gently and praying that he would take that at face value.

 

Though James Jr and Alexander had the energy every seven- and five-year-old had, Rachel would always force them to sit still and read and write as she straightened the back stock of her tiny shop. The AC was cut off at night to save every bit of energy and she worked until her limbs felt heavy. She never wanted her sons to have to help her, but by the time they were ten and eight, the boys could have run the shop on their own. She was always so proud of them as they studied and stocked and organized with the maturity of young adults. Poverty made everyone seem to grow up faster.

On February 1, , Rachel and Alexander woke up coughing. By the 6th, neither of them could stand for longer than a few minutes at a time and James Jr took over the shop by himself as his brother and his mother wasted away before him. With only enough saved to have Alexander taken to the doctor, her son began to heal as soon as he started on antibiotics.

On February 19th, Alexander was released from the hospital just in time to watch his mother die of the same pneumonia he had recovered so well from. She had abandoned the ribbon she kept tied around her wrist.

“I wanted to teach you how to forgive,” she told them, though every breath caused her pain. “But it’s not easy to learn. I think I didn’t learn until just now.”

At Rachel’s request, Alexander took a pen to her wrist and wrote “I forgive you.”

The next morning, a local carpenter donated a coffin and the two boys spent the day holding back tears as they dug a grave.

The next six months were spent with their cousin, and Alexander was finally beginning to think things could feel normal again. Through the graces of their community, the books Rachel had saved so much to purchase were bought in an auction and given back to the brothers. Without the shop to work for, Alexander managed to slip under the radar enough to work for another clerk, slowly saving up his money. James Jr. abandoned his education in favor of learning carpentry.

“Mom would have wanted us to keep studying.” Alexander would tell his brother as they lay side by side in the small cot.

“Mom would be happy to see me making money.” James Jr. replied. He dropped out before he even reached middle school, and Alexander’s shattered heart broke into even more pieces.

 

When Alexander and James Jr walked back into the house after school and work and were greeted by the sight of another dead body, Alexander screamed so loud the entire town heard him. He slammed his knuckles into the walls, his tears blinding him. Using the height and weight being two years older provided him to his advantage, James Jr pulled Alexander away from the wall.

They had been silent when their mother passed, unable to do anything but watch as she faded. With their cousin Peter dead, they couldn’t keep silent. The brothers screamed and fought and hit each other until they collapsed on the floor and sobbed. When the broken family was discovered by neighbors, the decision to split up the brothers was instant. When Alexander saw the heart on his wrist, his heart seized painfully. He still knew nothing about the marks that would appear on his body. When he saw, ‘I’m sorry’ written right beside it, all he could think about were the words on his mother’s wrist and the flood of tears was released once more. Alexander was inconsolable.

 

Two years passed and Alexander did little more than write and read and work and learn and try to keep going. His new family, the Stevens, was kind, but it wasn’t enough. He made friends with the boy Edward, and it was only because of Edward that he had any idea of what the marks that would often appear on his body were from.

“Just some soulmate kinda shit.” Edward had snickered, the cover of night a wonderful excuse to curse freely. “Stupid if you ask me.”

And that answered enough of Alexander’s questions.

 

The hurricane that swept through Nevis in the summer of 2006 was devastating. Buildings were destroyed, families were ripped apart, dreams were shattered in the rage of the storm, but Alexander’s core couldn’t be shaken by that kind of devastation anymore.

As they rebuilt, Alexander took advantage of the computer his work had to type out a plea for help. He hadn’t known where to send the file, but his employers had. Alexander’s account of the hurricane was sent to every journalist in the Caribbean and the donations began pouring in for the rebuilding of Nevis and the rebuilding of Alexander’s life.

Thomas Stevens pulled Alexander aside one night, crouching before him. “Alex, kid, do you like it here?” He had asked, his voice soft.

The eleven year old was unable to meet his eyes as he shook his head.

Shoulders relaxing, Thomas stretched out a hand to pat Alexander’s shoulder. “Good. I want you to meet someone soon.” He laughed, patting Alexander once more before straightening. “There’s a family in New York that has agreed to take you in, eager to sponsor an education.”

Alexander stared at him for a long moment, his eyebrows furrowing. “Wait, leave Nevis?”

“You would be leaving Nevis, yes, but you’d have so many opportunities over there.” Thomas told him softly, Edward sneaking in from the kitchen to listen in on the conversation.

Eyes welling with tears, Alexander tugged on the bottom of his shirt, fingers twisting in the cloth. “B-but… James Jr.. What about my brother?”

Thomas frowned, eyes dropping to the ground. “He wants to stay here.” He said after a long pause, folding his arms over his chest. “He thinks he’s better to stay here.”

Alexander didn’t have much of a choice but to agree, though he began to wonder if every family he had would be torn away from him with such cruelty.

 

New York was nicer than he expected, and the Livingstons were greater than he could have ever asked for.  William Livingston was essentially his foster father, though Alexander was hard pressed to call him anything other than a guardian. The bedroom he stayed in wasn’t just his own, but there was a computer that could be shared between the children in the household.

If he would have to fight for computer access, Alexander was positive he was prepared.

While the first few months of his time in America was spent studying and getting acclimated to the new environment, an idea began to sprout in Alexander’s mind. His mother had written on her arm, he remembered, and whatever person connected to him had done the same. One of the Livingstons’ children, Kitty, had begun Alexander’s fascination with the marks on his own arms. He had always been aware of the bruises that didn’t hurt and the hearts that would occasionally appear, but so much of his time had been focused on living that he couldn’t even bother to think about what they could meet.

“My soulmate got in another fight!” Kitty announced, flopping down into his bed. “He’s a total idiot. Always picking fights and getting bruised and being a jerk.” She huffed, tossing her head onto his legs. He was almost afraid to move for fear of tugging on the perfect blonde curls.

“Soulmates. So how do you know the person we’re connected with is meant for us?” He asked, not raising his eyes from the textbook in his hands.

She rolled her eyes, sighing heavily. “Honestly, Lexi. It’s just one of those things you have to accept.”

“I have to accept it?” He asked in disbelief. “You don’t just _accept_ things! Why should I have to just take it at face value?”

Kitty took a moment to think, her fingers tracing designs in the bedsheets. “Maybe there are just some things in life it’s better to accept.” She began, her words slow rather than the easy rush she often talked in. “If you spend all your time wondering why you should love your soulmate then you won’t have time to enjoy loving them.”

Alexander couldn’t think of a response that night. He had told her he would get back to her, but he didn’t have the experience to bother arguing a case he might be swayed from. Kitty had only smiled, patient and understanding and eager to talk about anything Alexander wanted to talk about.

 

It was a month later that Alexander met Aaron Burr, and within a week, he knew he couldn’t go another day without talking to his soulmate. He made his e-mail immediately and put the pen to his wrist and he was sure he would never regret it. Even as two different handwritings joined his own his wrist, he didn’t regret it.

He had almost been afraid that John wouldn’t respond to the email. Even after the first few messages, Laf – affectionately nicknamed, of course – seemed to open up far easier than John did. As Alexander reviewed the messages, the argument could be made that none of them opened up very much. He refused to be the first to tell them about his family or his history. He wouldn’t tell a soul in person he was a bastard who abandoned his brother back home.

He didn’t want anyone’s opinion of him to be based of his upbringing. He didn’t want anyone’s opinion of him to be of anything besides the things that came out of his mouth or the things he wrote or the things he did or anything that he had control over.

Alexander was afraid of what these two boys across the world could think about him. He didn’t want to think of why exactly it mattered so much to him, but he wanted to impress them just as much as he wanted to impress everyone he met. Every time John took more than a day to respond or Laf replied with half the words he had sent to begin with, something heavy dropped in his chest, but he didn’t stop the messages. If he sent enough messages, surely, he would win their favor eventually. He could endear himself to the two boys and find himself with two closer friends than he ever had.

It would have been too much to ask for to have John initiate the conversation. Surely being two years older made him so much busier. Laf certainly couldn’t begin new conversations until his grasp of English improved. There was always an explanation for everything.

He enjoyed their conversations, shallow as they may be, and Aaron was the one to thank. There was no way Alexander could possibly go another day without attempting to talk to his soulmates after seeing how carelessly Aaron could discard his.

 

“Aaron Burr?” Alexander chirped, almost crashing into the older boy in the hallway outside the middle school’s library. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you!”

The boy in front of him looked no older than he was, though he knew Aaron was a grade higher. If the student was surprised to see him, he didn’t show it. “Talk to me ab-“

Cutting him off, Alexander began to bounce on the balls of his feet, rocking forward. “My teachers told me that you’re taking high school courses already. A zero hour course before our school starts in the morning, and you go to the high school during lunch for an additional class.”

“It’s a new progr-“

“But they won’t let me do the same!” Alexander huffed, his excitement seemingly fading as his arms crossed over his chest. “Something about me not being able to handle taking two languages at once and some bullshit. But taking Latin now is the only way to guarantee getting into Latin V by my senior year, and that’s the only way I’ll be able to take the Latin AP test and I was planning on taking the Latin and the French AP tests.”

Alexander’s words hadn’t even slowed as Aaron shuffled his books to one arm to rub tiredly at the bridge of his nose. Alexander managed to note that Aaron looked more than just one year older with the smile dropped from his face. Aaron looked far better with the smile.

“What’s your name?”

At this, Alexander finally let Aaron manage to finish a sentence. His expression was proud, chest puffing out as his posture seemed to straighten. “Alexander Hamilton.”

“Get on the administrations’ good side.” Aaron instructed, his free hand slipping into his pocket and, for the first time, Alexander noticed the denim of his jeans looked just as worn as his own did. “Ask to be put in the zero hour course at the end of this year _after_ proving you’re a respectable student. Don’t try picking a fight now.”

“I shouldn’t have to prove myself just to take a Latin class.” Alexander argued, stepping closer to Aaron, though why he was trying to intimidate the boy, he didn’t know.

“Clearly you do. If taking this class is important enough to fight over, it’s important enough to be respectful for.”

Alexander considered the boy before him, recognizing he needed Aaron’s help and that it would do him good to be in his good graces. “Fuck off,” he replied, deciding the words far more appropriate than flattery.

He fully expected Aaron to return the disrespect with violence. Aaron didn’t seem like the physical type, but not everyone seemed like the physical type until the first punch was already thrown. To Alexander’s surprise, Aaron only laughed.

“Good luck with your class.” Aaron told him, waving him goodbye.

For all Alexander wanted to refute the well-wishing statement, Aaron was already gone before Alexander could trip over his words. Alexander stewed over Aaron’s advice, stewed over the easiness with which Aaron carried himself. Why could Aaron act so composed and confident and wise when Alexander struggled to force everyone around him to see what he could do. It wasn’t fair, he decided, and he wanted more than anything to find out how it was possible.

Alexander knew he could get in trouble. He knew he would, but excitement thrummed under his skin, and as the bell for lunch tolled, he broke out into a run towards the front of the school. He watched as a line of students, no more than ten, stepped onto the bus, paper bags in hand. He was only encouraged to run faster, making his way to the bus just as the door was about to close.

“And who are you?” The bus driver asked, raising an eyebrow.

“New student!” Alexander chirped. “Alexander Hamilton!”

If the bus driver was suspicious, he clearly wasn’t being paid enough to care, and he waved Alexander back to take his seat. With a grin, Alexander took off towards the middle of the bus, plopping down beside Aaron.

“You can’t be serious.” Aaron deadpanned, pausing in his efforts to unwrap his lunch. “You can’t just sneak into the high school.”

Alexander grinned, holding his backpack tightly to his chest. “I’m on the bus, aren’t I?”

Aaron let out another sigh, but seemed to relax, accepting the inevitable. “You’re a strange one, Alexander.”

By the end of the bus ride, Aaron had accepted Alexander enough to invite him over to his house, offering to catch him up on the syllabuses for the classes he would be taking the next year. Whether Aaron accepted him as a friend or accepted him as a unavoidable nuisance, Alexander couldn’t be sure, but Alexander couldn’t make himself care about the particulars now that he had gotten what he wanted.

His mood did fall when he was forced to sit in detention for sneaking onto the bus, but only slightly.

As soon as Alexander made his way to Aaron’s house, he was bouncing with energy just as he had only hours prior. He knocked sharply at the door, grinning widely.

He tried to reel in his confusion when a man who looked decidedly not like Aaron opened the door. “Yes?”

Alexander cleared his throat, rising up on his toes to try to glance over the man’s shoulder. “I’m here for Aaron?”

The man nodded, smiling, and stepped aside. “Aaron’s in his room. Second door to the right down the hallway. Remind him visitors can’t stay past dinnertime, if you could?”

Alexander blinked, but didn’t falter. “Yes sir!” He took off towards Aaron’s room, pushing the door open and stepping inside. It would have been polite to knock first, he thought absently, but Aaron was only sitting up in his bed reading when Alexander barged in, so the younger boy couldn’t make himself feel guilty. Alexander bounded forward, taking a seat at the end of Aaron’s bed before Aaron even had the chance to give him permission.

Aaron set the book aside, and Alexander was amused to find that Aaron didn’t even seem surprised by Alexander’s behavior.

“Well, where would you like to start?”

 

Alexander invited himself over every day after that. If Aaron was tired of seeing him, the boy said nothing to encourage him to stop. He lounged out on Aaron’s bed, talking only about classwork and high school and university. They didn’t talk about themselves, and Alexander didn’t ask why Aaron’s mother and father were white while Aaron was black, and maybe he should just because he had his own foster parents. They didn’t talk about soulmates until a heart appeared on Aaron’s wrist and the boy in front of him looked so _pleased_ that Alexander had to mention it.

“Your soulmate draws hearts too?” Alexander asked, though he hadn’t seen a heart on his wrist since the day his cousin died, and he missed the small comfort.

Aaron looked bashful as he traced a finger over the heart. “Yes. Her name is Theodosia. She wrote her name a while back.”

Alexander didn’t know his soulmate’s name. He didn’t know a thing about his soulmate. He didn’t know if he even wanted to know who his soulmate was, but Aaron seemed so happy to be able to know his soulmate was out there somewhere.

“You’ve talked to her?”

Aaron seemed sheepish, guarding his wrist against his chest. “She’s done the extent of the talking. She writes on her arms when she’s bored, she says. She wants me to know her.” He fingers the mark once more, but stares in confusion when Alexander offers a pen. “No, I don’t write back.”

Alexander paused, blinking. “You obviously like her. Why don’t you write back?”

Aaron only laughed, shaking his head. “I’m not ready yet.”

That, Alexander could understand, but it seemed like a weak excuse. “And what if she gets tired of waiting for you?” He asked, talking before he could even stop himself. “Just because she’s your soulmate doesn’t mean she won’t get tired of waiting for you.”

Aaron seemed to stop at that, sucking in a breath. Alexander wondered if he had gone too far, but then Aaron offered a shrug. “If she’s my soulmate, time shouldn’t matter.” He glanced over, his eyes dragging over Alexander’s wrists, though there was nothing to be seen. There never really was anymore. “Are you in love with your soulmate?”

Alexander frowned, shifting to sit back against the wall. “I don’t think there’s a point to soulmates.”

Aaron traced the heart on his wrist once more, the action reverent. “Then I would mind your curiosity if I were you.”

 

When Alexander went home, he was willing to bargain his portion of dessert for the next week to get an hour at the computer. “Please, Kitty, I need to write my soulmate.”

“The computer is all yours tonight.” She announced, clapping her hands together excitedly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Alexander rolled his eyes at her excitement, but he owed it to himself to scratch the itch now under his skin. He deserved to know who he was linked to. He owed it to himself and to the other to try to make contact.

When his scrawl was replied to nearly immediately, Alexander felt his pulse begin to race. He nearly stumbled over himself in his rush to run to the computer desk. As soon as he took his seat, a second email appeared on his arm. His eyes widened, and he was tempted for a moment to write, “Anyone else?” though he wasn’t sure the joke would be appreciated.

But he emailed them and he talked with them and that was more than Aaron could say. Apparently Aaron’s soulmate didn’t even know his name yet he loved her and committed the words she wrote on his arm to memory. It was cruel for Aaron to ignore the girl like that, Alexander decided, and if he had been Aaron’s soulmate and he grew to love Aaron, he would have responded immediately. He would have, he told himself, typing up another paragraph to the two boys he decided he would call friends.

He could appreciate his friends more than Aaron could appreciate his soulmate.

 

Only three months later, the long emails had dissolved to short messages on instant messenger after a plea from Lafayette for Alexander to send less than a thousand words with every reply. The switch to messenger was easy enough, though Alexander was the only one of the three without a blackberry – or a phone at all, really, and he would always find himself disgruntled to log onto the computer to see Lafayette and John chatting for hours about sports or books or classes. Aaron had added him on the instant messenger as well, but Aaron seemed adamant on only discussing classwork. Alexander’s visits to Aaron’s house had slowed, and the desire to talk to John and Lafayette only increased.

Alex: Guys it’s nearly Christmas and I don’t know what I want to ask for.

John: Ask for the ability to shut up.

Lafayette: So I was researching American Christmas traditions, and you do not have the spanking father?

John: Laffy Taffy, what the hell.

Alex: Going back to MY NORMAL TOPIC OF CONVERSATION

Lafayette: Ask for manners?

John: Ask for socks

Lafayette: Ask for a French dictionary

John: Ask for a phone

Alex: I’m asking for new soulmates

Lafayette: Alexander, you should give us your address so we can send you something!

John: Yeah, I’m down! I can send him SOCKS

Lafayette: Is that an innuendo

Alex: You guys don’t need to give me anything I think I’m just going to ask for new journals

Alex: Or pens

Alex: Or a hoodie that Kitty doesn’t steal and get lipstick on

John: Ooooh lipstick is hard as fuck to get out

Lafayette: ???

Alex: Wait how old are your sisters again

John: 10 and 2

Lafayette: You let a 2 year old have lipstick?

Alex: Or do you have a giiiiiiiirlfrieeeeeeeend

John: Christmas is cancelled for Alex he gets NOTHING

 

Lafayette and Alexander were ruthless when need be. Though none of the three had been very vocal about family besides whether they had siblings – Alexander still didn’t have the heart to tell them about James – they had managed to get John to tell them all about his girlfriend by the end of the night.

The conversation had stopped abruptly at Lafayette’s message.

 

Lafayette: Oh! So you like girls then?

 

And John went offline. And Lafayette messaged him privately asking if he had said something wrong. And Alexander didn’t know what to say because he couldn’t be sure what was going on. After an excruciating two days of silence, John sent a message about Alexander needing to give them his address and everything almost felt normal again.

On Christmas day, when a laptop and a Blackberry came in the mail, Alexander was speechless. Inside the box were two handwritten letters.

**A Merry Christmas from France! This is much better than a visit from the Spanking Father, no? I hope you enjoy! I cannot wait to hear more from you now! Message us as soon as you have either device set up!**

**_Laf tried to bribe me to have this shipped from “The Spanking Father” but I refused. You better be grateful. Also, we all gotta talk about how Laf is pretty much royalty because he sent me the money for me to buy this for you, and the envelope the money was in had this fancy ass wax seal and I swear to God it smells like perfume. The envelope’s at the bottom of the box, but I want it back because it’s cool. Merry Christmas. You better message us later._**  

And things weren’t normal, not by a long shot, but things were different in a way that wasn’t terrifying – not really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So timeline notes:  
> John's mother died in May of 2005 (2 years before the three of them started talking) a month after the birth of the youngest Laurens sibling, Mary. Historically, this is accurate, but John would have been 16 at the time instead of 12. John and Alexander both have brothers named James!!! 
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr at nedcanunot also what are weekly updates even


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